


Kingdom Down

by wickednlazy



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, ritchie holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:25:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickednlazy/pseuds/wickednlazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'See I've come to burn your kingdom down...'</p>
<p>A brisk walk in the park becomes a warning from an old enemy for the Great Detective.</p>
<p>{Just a little one-shot I scribbled to see if I could still manage to produce fanfiction of any kind, I'm very out of practice. I've never written these characters (of the Ritchie films) before either so I wanted a little challenge!}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom Down

Regents Park was ablaze. A beautiful palette of brown, red and yellow washed through the trees. It was exceptionally dry, the leaves crisp underfoot; herds of them blustered across the pathways and over the grass verges.

Between the Detective’s teeth was a worn pipe, lighting up as he ambled down the main pathway and then off down a quieter track.

Sherlock puffed the tobacco to life, sharp eyes flicking between the glowing ashes and the path ahead. A Sarasate melody was on his lips, hummed behind the pipe as he tossed away a spent Lucifer. The tune grew louder, a crescendo, swelling almost to a vocal rendition-

Then a soft but familiar click froze his blood.

He felt the breath of a modified revolver at the back of his head, but most curious was the tang of his captors recently spent cigarette.

‘’Ah, Colonel. You’ve returned for the noose at last.’’

‘’Not exactly.’’ Moran said, holding steady as Holmes tilted his head to meet his gaze. He appraised the weapon, so dangerously close to his face now, marking it as the most modern device of its kind; no surprise. He had wielded such a weapon the last time they came face to face. ‘’There’s someone who wishes to speak with you.’’

‘’I’m afraid I’m fully engaged for the next two weeks, but if your new accomplice would care to make an appointment-‘’

‘’He’d rather not be kept waiting any longer, Mr Holmes. But I promise you will be interested in what he has to say.’’

‘’Very well.’’ Holmes conceded, twisting around to walk in the direction that Moran dictated. He didn’t have much choice in the matter at present, but as he wasn’t already on the gravel pooling blood, Moran’s new employer obviously didn’t wish him dead. And it was from a grand distance that the Colonel could have dispatched him, rather than ferrying him to a meeting.

Moran, his beard much thicker now against his thin face, lowered the weapon, hovering it in line with one of the Detective’s kidneys. It was concealed from the lonely passer-by who came into view at the top of the track, walking an excitable spaniel.

Holmes gave them a gracious inclination of the head as they bid him ‘Good Morning’, passing him and his captor by quite blissfully unaware. The copper canine ran a few circuits around them before sprinting after his Master.

They walked further, Holmes’ breath misting the air in regular bursts. He spied another figure up ahead, a well-dressed man on a bench, leaning against a cane and staring off into the distance. The Detective was calculating how many of Moran’s fingers he might be able to break before a bullet grazed his flesh and drew this stranger to the alarm.

Until he saw more clearly his face.

His feet became lead, halting with a loud crunch on the pathway. The barrel of the revolver met him sharply in the back, pressuring him forwards. He strode on, but with caution, taking as long as he could to analyse that face, because it couldn’t be, it was just a flicker of memory, a ghost- the word ‘no’ died on his lips. There was little point in letting it fly. It was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

The spectre on the bench filled his heart with ice, as cold as the dark water that had engulfed them both four years prior.

A jagged sliver of white ran from his left temple to his jawline, hidden by an immaculate beard. It was his right side that would crumple if he stood, Holmes noted, supported by that heavy cane. One of his fingers was unable to bend as far as the others on his right hand. He seemed a shadow, but the blaze in his eyes as he finally acknowledged Holmes’ presence was as intense as the moment they had fallen over the balcony.

The Detective was pinned by that gaze like a butterfly specimen to a cushion.

‘’You look remarkably well for a dead man.’’ He quipped. He knew Moriarty saw through his outward bravado, but he said nothing. His gaze blessedly trailed away to the horizon. Holmes took a seat beside him, with a body’s worth of space between them. Moran loitered nearby, indulging himself in another pungent cigarette as he kept watch.

Holmes gripped his pipe between his teeth as he readjusted his jacket, noticing a sudden remarkable chill. His effort made little difference; it was bone deep.

He spoke again.

‘’Such is the problem when you meet an immovable object. Something is bound to get broken.’’

Still the Professor remained silent, staring intently ahead. The reptilian stillness was unnerving, and Holmes turned his attention more vigorously to his pipe. It needed to be replenished. He searched his inner jacket pocket for the tobacco pouch.

‘’Moran mentioned you had something I would be interested to hear. Though silence can say so much…’’

‘’We have had this conversation before, so I will not waste time in repeating old words.’’

The voice was the same. Cool, collected, matter of fact. It was as though the events of Reichenbach were days ago, not years.

‘’This conversation did not end well the last time we had it.’’ Holmes pointed out, glancing sidelong at the older man. His expression was curious; lips parted, brow furrowed as though he were contemplating some stronger words, but he continued to stare off towards the amber trees.

‘’It will end even worse. I _assure_ you.’’

Moriarty edged himself back against the bench, letting out a little sigh. He almost sounded nostalgic, a little discomforting cheer coming back into his expression. It changed so fluidly, Holmes scarcely caught the transition. Both men stared out across the park now, Holmes sending a trail of smoke up into the atmosphere. There was a soft but audible little creak as Moriarty’s gloved hands tightened around the cane.

‘’Your brother is not beyond my reach. The Inspector, Lestrade, your little street urchins, Mrs Hudson who rents your rooms. I know everyone whose lives you have touched, no matter how brief. I will grind you out of existence, piece by piece. It is a pity that any one of them had to enter your orbit. Miss Adler already paid the price for that, and she will not be the last. That place has been reserved most specially.’’

‘’You recall, of course, what happened the last time you threatened one of my friends.’’

‘’The child first, I think,’’ Moriarty continued, aware in his periphery of the intense dark gaze now settled on him, ‘’then Mrs Watson. I shouldn’t like the Doctor to miss their demise. He should witness every detail.’’’

A musical chuckle raised the Professor’s eyebrows, looking now to his companion on the bench. Holmes grinned, his pipe still held firmly.

‘’You reveal your stratagem before the game is afoot? Come now- I have all the powers of this City behind me to strike you from this earth. And this time, I will not rely upon nature to see you into the grave. It was a housewife who demolished a great part of your empire-’’

‘’With direction. She is a pleasant woman, I grant you. And an exquisitely polite child. It really is a pity.’’

Holmes narrowed his eyes again, drawing the pipe away from his mouth. He tapped out the ash on the heel of his boot, eyes darting up and down across the gravel path. Mary had no idea what Moriarty looked like; it could be a bluff. But he did not doubt for one moment that the man had already infiltrated their lives, no matter how subtle. A bump in a crowded train station, sharing a park bench as they did now…it was well within his power to merely _meet_ her, assess her, and young Joan Watson along with her.

‘’The child will be quick, I will grant her that much.’’

The Detective was on his feet, inflamed, staring down at the man he had hurled into the abyss. He did not speak, his posture said quite enough, and Moriarty turned his head lazily to look at him. His mood had lifted now he had wound up his target, ready to set him off on an inevitable path. Holmes stood still, breathing steady as he reined himself in.

There was a quirk of his brow and another grin. He tucked his pipe away into his pocket before it snapped in his hand.

It was all part of the game, of course. The same game as before, but with the difficulty hitched.

He was quite ready.

Before he could speak, however, a tremor ran through the ground, and a great explosion rumbled in the distance. Holmes whirled around, watching the billowing smoke rise into the clear blue sky. He was making calculations, assessing the direction, allowing for wind-

‘’The Diogenes, I think, judging from the angle. Or perhaps there has been an incident on Baker Street. Perhaps it is a family home? I have done my waiting, Mr Holmes. Let us waste no more time.’’

Holmes was running before the last insidious syllables met his ears, gravel flying underfoot.


End file.
